


Surprise!

by Fictionista654



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:28:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23297050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fictionista654/pseuds/Fictionista654
Summary: Villanelle drops in on Eve.“Hello, sexy lady,” says Villanelle.Eve drops her lipstick in the sink. The makeup smears, leaving a stain like fresh blood on the porcelain. Keeping her eyes lowered—don’t look up, don’t look up—Eve says, “Hello, Villanelle.”Villanelle’s quiet laugh sends a shiver down Eve’s spine. Her shoulder blades pull together. “Did you get my present?”
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 8
Kudos: 68





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this on Tumblr, but I felt like posting it here, too.

“Hello, sexy lady,” says Villanelle.

Eve drops her lipstick in the sink. The makeup smears, leaving a stain like fresh blood on the porcelain. Keeping her eyes lowered—don’t look up, don’t look up—Eve says, “Hello, Villanelle.”

Villanelle’s quiet laugh sends a shiver down Eve’s spine. Her shoulder blades pull together. “Did you get my present?”

That morning, Eve had woken up to find a small animal heart placed lovingly by her cheek, blood flowering across the white linen pillowslip. It was compact as a baby’s fist and smelled like fear, and Eve picked up in a tissue and threw it out in the bathroom trashcan. _I should have known that would come back to bite me,_ she thought. Out loud, Eve said, “It wasn’t really my style.”

Villanelle tuts. “So rude. Who taught you manners?”

“Not you,” Eve says wryly. She glances up, despite herself, and catches Villanelle’s eye in the mirror. Villanelle is wearing an off-white gown, silk gloves, and an enormous fox stole with the head still attached. Its glass eyes stare dolefully at the floor.

“You like?” says Villanelle, swinging the end of the stole so its nose flicks back and forth like a pendulum. She takes a step closer, her heels clicking on the bathroom tile, and the nose whispers against Eve’s neck. She unwinds the stole slowly before draping it over Eve’s shoulders. One of Villanelle’s hands slides around Eve’s neck and down to the zipper of Eve’s new blue dress.

“Don’t,” whispers Eve, heat flooding her cheeks.

Villanelle tugs, and the unzipping sound makes Eve wince. She feels cool air on her newly exposed skin; Villanelle is blowing on her spine. Eve gasps, her hand stretching out and grasping the faucet. Villanelle’s hips line up with hers.

“I hope you don’t mind,” says Villanelle, producing a battered red notebook from nowhere and dropping it on the counter. “I borrowed it last time I was here.”

“Is that…my diary?”

Villanelle smiles against Eve’s temple. “I underlined my favorite parts.”

“What are you even doing here?” says Eve, annoyed at last. She shoves at Villanelle and turns around, and she’s still trapped against the sink, but now she’s facing Villanelle. Villanelle’s eyes are bright with mischief, her cheeks dimpled.

“What am I doing here?” says Villanelle, pretending to pout. “I thought you wanted to see me. At least, that’s what your book said.”

Eve inhales through her nose, exhales through her mouth, fluttering the golden strands of Villanelle’s hair. “What else did it say?” She’s genuinely curious to know what Villanelle gleaned from a dip in Eve’s psyche.

“You are interested in me. You think I am beautiful.”

True and true. “What else?” whispers Eve. She can scarcely talk.

Villanelle grins. “You want to know me.” True. “You want to be me.”

“I do not want to be a psychopathic serial killer!” says Eve. “I know, I know, don’t tell a psychopath they’re a psychopath. Sorry.”

“I am not a serial killer,” says Villanelle, a line forming between her impeccably groomed brows. “Serial killers are fat men who cannot get laid.” Eve laughs. Villanelle smiles, pleased with herself. “So, are you coming out with me?”

“I was supposed to go out with Niko,” Eve says, as if she might still meet him at the move theater, as if a date night with Niko is still a possibility. As if she wouldn’t do anything Villanelle has planned.

“Niko,” says Villanelle, sounding disgusted. “He has an ugly mustache.”

Eve laughs again, though she feels a stab of guilt for betraying her husband. “So you’ve said.”

“Come on,” says Villanelle, linking her arm around Eve’s. “We have things to do.”

“What things?” says Eve. Villanelle, of course, doesn’t answer.


	2. Chapter 2

A windowless white van waits at the curb. Eve stops on the pavement, looks from the van to Villanelle to the van.

“That’s your ride?”

Villanelle nods, hands on her hips. “I know. Hideous, isn’t it? They said it would be inconspicuous, but I think it makes me look like a pedophile. I would rather have a convertible. Do you like convertibles, Eve?”

“Uh, sure,” says Eve, before the rest of Villanelle’s words catch up to her. “Wait, _they_? Who’s _they_?”

Villanelle shrugs. “It is not important.” She opens the passenger door and steps back, gesturing for Eve to get it.

“I’m not going anywhere with you until you tell me what’s going on,” says Eve, crossing her arms for good measure. The wind picks up, goose pimpling her her skin. 

“Yes, you will,” Villanelle says, like she’s stating a known fact. Like she knows Eve could never turn her down.

And goddamnit, she’s right.

Somewhere deep down, a voice that sounds suspiciously like Niko tells Eve that she’s being an idiot. What the hell is she doing, getting into a car with Villanelle? She might as well go scuba diving with piranhas. 

Then again, Eve likes Villanelle much more than she likes piranhas. She tries to step onto the van’s running-board, but it’s a little high up, and she stumbles. 

“Here,” says Villanelle, her voice unusually quiet. Her hands close around Eve’s waist, and she lifts her up. 

Eve’s heart flutters. _God, she’s strong._ Before she can turn to sit, Villanelle gives her a pat on the ass.

“Hey!” says Eve, whirling around.

“What?” Villanelle says innocently. “I was just helping you in.”

“Uh-huh,” says Eve. 

“I hate your British cars,” Villanelle says in a conversational tone as they pull away from the curb. “They are so hard to drive!” 

“Oh, because of the…the steering wheel thing?” says Eve. _The steering wheel thing?_ She sounds like an idiot. Why is it so hard for her to sound normal in front of Villanelle?

“What else?” says Villanelle, who seems to be enjoying Eve’s discomfort. “Tell me, Eve, do you like to smoke?”

“Not really,” says Eve. 

“Do you mind if I smoke?”

“Not at all,” Eve assures her. The banality of this conversation strikes her, and she stifles a laugh.

Villanelle smokes languidly, her lips pursing softly around each exhale of smoke. Most of her hair is twisted into a complicated updo, but a few artfully freed wisps flutter in the breeze from the cracked window. She looks like Old Hollywood, like money. She looks really fucking hot.

“We are going to fuck, you know,” says Villanelle.

Embarrassingly, Eve gasps. “Oh,” she says, her cheeks hot. Her hand absentmindedly goes to the zipper of her dress.

“Not right now, of course.”

Eve hastily puts down her hand. “Of course not!”

“Did you think…?”

“No!” 

Villanelle tuts. “So eager.”

"I didn’t—I mean—”

“Eve!” says Villanelle, putting her left hand on Eve’s right thigh. “I am teasing you.” Her voice is a little muffled around the cigarette in her mouth.

“Ha ha,” says Eve. “You’re so funny. So, um. Where are we going?”

Villanelle smirks, her eyes narrowing at the road. “We are going to work together, Eve Polastri.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Work together?” repeats Eve. “What do you mean, work together? Work on what?”

Villanelle spits her still-smoldering cigarette into the cup-holder, and Eve hastily stubs it out. “We have a job.”

Eve runs her hands through her hair in frustration. “A job.”

Villanelle glances at Eve at of the corner of her eye. “You are being a little slow today, Eve.”

“Damnit, Oksana,” snaps Eve as she fidgets with the handle of the glove compartment. “Tell me what’s going on.” 

“I am trying,” Villanelle says, “but you aren’t listening. You should really get your ears checked, Eve.”

Eve tugs too hard on the handle, and the glove compartment pops open, revealing a wad of cash and a pearl-handed revolver. Eve weighs the gun in her hand; it’s heaver than it looks. “You certainly have taste.”

“Oh, that old thing?” Villanelle said casually. “I forgot it was in there.” 

There’s an engraving on the handle, but the letters are Cyrillic. Eve runs her finger over it as if she can somehow scrub a translation into the words.

“Is this yours?”

Villanelle looks bemused. “Of course. It’s in my car.” 

God, Villanelle’s annoying. And she still hasn’t told Eve where they’re going. “We’re going to assassinate someone, aren’t we,” said Eve, her voice resigned. 

Villanelle feigns shock. “No! You think? Really?”

“Who’s it for?” demands Eve. “The Twelve?”

“Oh, Eve. You know I can’t tell you that,” says Villanelle, tutting and shaking her head.

“So what _can_ you tell me?”

“I can tell you that you are very sexy in that dress.” 

Eve fights a smile. “You think?”

“Oh, absolutely,” says Villanelle. “Blue is really your color.”

“Thanks,” says Eve, fingering the cool silk material. Then she snaps back to attention. “You’re distracting me.”

“It worked.”

“Not really.”

“I’m pretty sure it worked, Eve.”

 _Eve._ Not for the first time, Eve wonders why Villanelle says her name so much. 

“Hey,” says Villanelle. “You want to stop for a burger?”

“Oh, God. That sounds amazing.”

Villanelle merges into the lane for the exit ramp and nearly tramples Lexus. 

“Jesus!” says Eve, bracing her hands against the glove compartment. “You need to look where you’re going!” 

“Relax,” says Villanelle. “It’s not like I ran over anyone.”

Eve wonders if this is a psychopath thing. After all, psychopaths are known to engage in risk-taking behaviors. Maybe a near-collision is Villanelle’s way of blowing off steam.

Or she’s just a bad driver.

They get burgers at a drive-through. Villanelle is very polite until the very last moment, when the teenaged worker passes her the bag of food through the window.

“You have hideous acne,” Villanelle says cheerfully. Eve chokes on her water.

“Was that necessary?” she says when they’re back on the road.

Villanelle plays dumb. “Was what necessary?”

“Oksana.”

“What if he is going around thinking that he looks good?” says Villanelle, taking her eyes of the road to grin at Eve. “It’s better to break the news all at once. Honesty is good for the soul.”

Eve gives up on this thread of the conversation and takes a large bite of her burger. “Mmmm.”

“You sound like you’re having sex.”

“Nope,” says Eve through a mouthful of food. “This is better.”

Villanelle’s brows draw together. “Then you really haven’t had good sex.”

“Just eat your burger,” says Eve, instantly regretting her words when Villanelle removes both hands from the wheel to unwrap her meal.

“What?” says Villanelle when Eve grabs the wheel. “Cruise control.”

When Villanelle takes back the wheel, Eve lets out a shaky breath. “I’m never driving anywhere with you ever again.”

“If you say so,” says Villanelle.


End file.
